Noir Effect
by MexMarco
Summary: A collection of noir-inspired short stories narrating the lives and tribulations of both sides of the law in the Citadel and Mass Effect universe. Features OCs and cameos by canon characters.
1. Drinker on Duty - Part 1

**DISCLAIMER: **Mass Effect, its places, races and distinctive likenesses are the property of Bioware and EA. I'm only a huge nerd doing what huge nerds do best.

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **A project like this isn't all that strange when you're a fan of both Mass Effect and hard-boiled crime fiction. I could tell from the very beginning that what I was writing was some funky, artificial extension of something like Blade Runner. It definitely is fun sailing these bizarre waters.

So what is Noir Effect exactly? The way I see it right now, it will be a collection of short stories with a tone not unlike what you'd read in a pulp magazine. The difference is, of course, that the setting will be rather far from the "streets dark with something other than night" that Raymond Chandler brought to life in his work. A quick search helped me understand I'm not the first to try this, but I still went ahead. You won't ever get to do anything fun if you always want to be the first.

In terms of characters, I expect to hop back and forth between a number of OCs while doing my best to stay true to the Mass Effect universe. I already made a big mistake close to eight years ago, when my OCs took away control from canon characters in an old fic –don't bother looking–. It's something I'd rather not repeat, and so I'm making that promise before we begin.

I certainly can't force you to keep reading my work and like it, trusty readers, but if there are some of you out there who wind up enjoying this project as much as I hope to enjoy writing it, then I'll be forever grateful. Maybe it will pluck one of your heart's strings; maybe it will make you laugh; maybe it will make you nod in approval; maybe it will help you pass the time. Whatever it is, I have nothing but thanks for your attention.

Do also feel free to leave a review. Whether it's good or bad, it can only help me improve.

Without any further ado, let's begin.  
_

**Drinker on Duty – Part One**

Booze. Chemotherapy for the kind of pain that would otherwise turn worms into men or a memory; an escape. It made sense that I drank and liked it.

It didn't matter if I got wasted at home in my cheap C-Sec salary apartment, or here in this quiet, forlorn bar somewhere probably outside my jurisdiction. The intention was more or less the same, regardless of the ward; I was a small dust particle trying to get smaller in an already vast galaxy.

The place I chose for that particular binge was my kind of rat hole: smelly, dark, unwelcoming… but most of all quiet. Loud house music, pulsating lights, mumbling turian bartenders and a tribe of horny teenagers prancing around would have made my drinking heavier that night, if that was possible.

Speaking of the bartender, he didn't care to know why I was drinking alone as long as I allowed him to drain credits from my savings account. At least he was human, thank God. I didn't need some boney salarian trying to rationalize my pain, or a krogan calling me a bitch for not dealing with my problems with a headbutt and a blast to the face.

If they only knew; the bartender did, or that's what I thought. The fact that he was a retired, balding dock worker trying to make a living off of babysitting drunks like me made no difference. Just being part of the same species helped us reach a quiet, mutual understanding.

"Isn't there somewhere else you should be, pal? Maybe chasing away perverts or drunks like yourself?" the bartender asked me in an annoyed voice as he cleaned the last of the dirty glasses.

So much for understanding.

I slammed my hands on the counter and sat upright. The whole left side of my face was sore and probably red from the short nap I took, if you could call it that. My feet were numb and so were my fingers. To make things worse, just blinking and looking ahead entailed some kind of balancing act. Lucky for me, my tongue was as sharp as always.

"…kicking me out? That's how it is?"

The bartender cocked his head to the side.

"Yeah. That's how it is," he parroted. "I closed an hour ago. I did you a small favor, but enough is enough. You're the only one left here."

He motioned to the rest of the place with his hairy arm and I followed his lead. It was true. Except for the quarian mutt getting paid maybe a hundred credits to clean the joint and live in the janitor's closet, there wasn't anyone else around. Empty. I never noticed, but then I was so sloshed the geth could've vaporized me and I would have probably slept through it.

"I've got a wife waiting for me at home, pal. Beat it," he said, thumb pointed toward the exit.

"Okay. I can take a hint," I answered, groggily running a hand over my face. "If anybody asks you, you didn't know I was on duty, alright?"

"Wh-You were on duty!?"

"Yeah. Still am, if my watch's not running late again. I bet you didn't mind one way or the other," I said, already dreading my next bank statement. "Be glad I didn't shake you down, okay? I mean, I'm sure all your papers are in order, considering you just sold alcoholic beverages to an identified C-Sec officer. It mustn't have been too hard to make me with my uniform still on."

I slid off my stool and staggered a little more. My knees were so weak that it felt like an orbital drop, instead of some inches shy of one measly foot. The quarian looked at me like he was meaning to come and help. He was the kind of Samaritan I didn't need.

"What's the story with bubble boy here?" I asked the bartender. "They could pinch you for slavery if you're not careful. It's not like you're keeping a dog here."

The quarian's eyes shone like green, angry stars through his visor. I smiled back at him, only because I could.

The bartender tightened his jaw and looked me in the eye. His whole head now reminded me of a really ugly, really angry brick.

"What do you want?" he asked, hammering every word with his voice.

That was a good question; it's too bad that the answers I had in my head were all stupid and terrible. Meanwhile, my silence was probably sign-language for "Come kick my ass", because that's what the bartender intended to do next. There are not that many interpretations when somebody cracks his knuckles in a high stress confrontation; the list gets shorter when you're the cause of it.

In the shape I was in, I couldn't hit an elcor even if you put him in front of me and told me he slept with my mother and owed me money. I was a wreck and an idiot for picking fights I couldn't even start; I'm a terrible fighter to begin with, but being drunk on top of that was too much. Things were going to get real messy real fast.

Then a female voiced called to me.

"Detective Seyer!"

I was more or less lucid enough to know that was my partner. The door slid open with a familiar wheeze and she came running, ignoring I had just pissed off some tough guy from the docks and his alien buddy. She looked like she was in a hurry, not to find me but to be somewhere else, probably far away from that joint. I figured she'd give me an excuse to be somewhere else soon. Rather, that's what I was hoping.


	2. Drinker on Duty - Part 2

**DISCLAIMER: **Mass Effect, its places, races and distinctive likenesses are the property of Bioware and EA. I'm only a huge nerd doing what huge nerds do best.

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **The conclusion to this short story. Enjoy! Also, look forward to at least one more Seyer story.

Feel free to review!

* * *

**Drinker on Duty – Part Two**

I had been awake for no more than ten minutes and I was already knee-deep in it. My mouth tasted of warm beer and my whole body reeked of trouble. That's the story of any C-Sec detective with a drinking habit, and it goes double for me.

The bartender dropped the bruiser act like a bad habit when Denara ran into the bar. If he had more hair left I'm sure he would've combed it over with his greasy, sausage fingers. As for the quarian, he looked almost embarrassed at himself for being angry just seconds ago. He held his washcloth with both hands like a brat about to apologize.

Denara had exactly that effect on people, except probably for me. I wasn't sure whether she hated me or respected me for that.

Detective Denara Shemar was my new partner, an asari assigned by C-Sec to replace Joe Briggs –my old human partner– after he died evacuating civilians during the geth invasion fifteen months ago. I still say "new" after all this time because I've never gotten used to her. No one ever gets over a partnership of nearly fifteen years that easy.

I don't hold it against her for being a rookie; I mean, everyone's got to make their bones from the bottom in this line of work, no exceptions. I don't even mind the fact that she's a natural biotic who could implode every atom of my body with a well-placed singularity. I just don't trust the asari. My uncle, God rest his soul, always told me they were the devil. My guess is it had something to do with him getting cleaned out in a wild holiday at Illium; nevertheless, I still believe him. The asari are what horny, acne-ravaged teenagers expect all women to be. Not a single one of them has love handles, cellulite, a gut, a double chin or even crooked eyes. Denara is no exception.

In short, I think it's only natural for me to distrust someone beautiful, even more so if we're talking a whole damned species. However, that doesn't stop me from enjoying the view from very, very far away, and maybe with a couple warp rounds loaded in my hand cannon.

"Detective Seyer!" Denara shouted at me again, this time with a mixture of worry and impatience. Maybe she thought I forgot my name.

Meanwhile, the previous scare and that entrance were good enough to sober me up a notch. I rubbed my forehead and patted the air, asking her to calm down.

"That's alright, Shemar. You don't have to raise your voice. We're not at Presidium; I'm right here, just a couple feet in front of you."

"Where were you? I've been looking for you all over this ward!"

Doubting that, I sucked in a deep breath and rolled my eyes. I patted myself to see that my uniform was in order.

"I was only checking out this place, making sure things were on the straight and narrow. I followed a lead that said they had a quarian working here illegally, but it turned out to be a misunderstanding, right?"

I looked over at the bartender. The color left his face so fast it looked like they had just pumped milk under his skin.

"Right," he mumbled.

That's when I knew I had him in my pocket. I pointed to the quarian and did some more explaining for Denara.

"This man knows he'll have to do time and pay a fine if he has fishbowl over there working against his will, or for anything below minimum wage. That would constitute inter-species slavery under Citadel law. Everyone gets a fair deal here."

Denara nodded and quoted the Citadel code: section, page, everything. The quarian dropped his washcloth on a nearby table and faced her very slowly. You could see his doubt in the way he curled those strange fingers.

"Excuse me… what is the minimum wage here in the Citadel?"

Denara stroked her chin and made a thoughtful noise.

"That would be close to five or six hundred credits, since you are from a non-Council species. Legislation is being pushed to raise it one hundred more due to the nature of the Pilgrimage, though."

The quarian puffed out his chest like a bodybuilder ready to win the gold when he heard that. He stopped slouching and stood to his full height, revealing what a tall, broad-shouldered man he was. He could have easily gotten out of there any day just on account of the strength he showed.

A dirty washcloth flew across the bar and hit the bartender right on his balding head.

"I trusted you!" shouted the quarian, and that was the last thing he said before the door came down on his way out. The bartender pried the piece of fabric off his disbelieving face.

The entire moment was beautiful, like watching a vorcha turd grow a sense of dignity and a pair of balls. I suddenly found myself wishing the guy good luck.

"That went alright," I said before facing Denara. "Enough of that. Let's have it."

Denara quirked an eyebrow. "Have what?"

"I didn't make you as the type to kick a door down just to say hi. Did you have something to tell me before all this happened?"

Denara shrank and blushed, the skin on her cheekbones turning a little bluer.

"Y-Yes. There has been a murder nearby. Patrolling officers are asking for our assistance, Detective."

A murder. Suddenly I wanted to stay there and buy Denara a round.

"Anything on the vic?" I asked.

Denara nodded.

"Volus. His suit was severely punctured. Everything indicates that it was depressurization that killed him, but whatever got through his suit may have hurt him too."

Depressurization of a Volus suit. It's exactly like watching a balloon deflate, and just as depressing. The victim flails and wheezes for what seems to be an eternity. Speech becomes completely impeded as everything inside them turns into pasty, useless mush. It's not a pretty way to go, but rarely anything is.

"That cause of death usually makes a racket," I said. "Is that how the officers found him? Did they follow the noise?"

"No. That's the odd part," Denara frowned. "They found the body while doing the last patrol of their beat. He was already dead and they were about to finish their shifts."

"So were we," I said, not caring what Denara thought of my cynicism. "Perp probably killed the little guy and dropped him where he thought they wouldn't find him.

"The trail might be still warm. We have to hurry," said Denara.

"Yeah. Let's go."

I knew I sounded ready, but I wasn't.

I often hate being C-Sec. It makes me see the horrible things species do to one another outside of war, and the often stupid motivations. However, at the time I didn't know what was worse: my feelings towards the job or the self-loathing I'd surely go through if I gave up the case and my shield altogether.

Denara was the first to leave. Just as I started following her, the bartender called me by my title and faced me with the meanest snarl he could come up with.

"Don't you ever show up around here again, you got that?"

"Or what? What are you gonna do, kill me?"

The bartender looked away; he didn't think that far ahead. When his eyes met mine a second time, he wasn't defiant anymore, just pissed.

"Kiss my ass," he said.

"I'd do it, but you already hired someone for that," I said, jerking my thumb at the direction the quarian went. "Don't worry. I'm sure he'll be back. He loves being around you."

The bartender started cussing me out, but by then I wasn't paying attention anymore. I had better things to do, something above and beyond the ennui, the self pity and the heavy drinking. Whatever demon made me take this job was calling me again. I didn't have the strength to say no.


End file.
